We met Sarah at a different location, a nondescript office building in Midtown that she said belonged to a colleague. Third floor, unmarked door, room with no windows.
"Operational security," Sarah explained as she let us in. "After what happened last night, we have to assume Brighton is watching everywhere you normally go."
Damien closed the door behind us and locked it. He'd barely left my side since the shooting. Even now, he positioned himself between me and the door, scanning the room like he expected threats to materialize from the walls.
"How's your hand?" Sarah asked me, nodding at the bandages wrapped around my palms where glass had cut me.
"Fine." I sat down at the table. "Maria's family?"
"Damien's people are handling it." Sarah's expression was sympathetic. "I'm sorry about what happened. That should have been you."
